The Time Will Come
by AnneBoleynQueenConsort
Summary: (Rewrite of My Redemption Story) What if Someone had Warned Thomas Bolyen of his familys defeat before it happened, What if he chose to bind the Seymour family to the fate of the Bolyen's George/Jane Edward/Mary Anne/Henry would history change forever


_The Time Will Come_ 6

**Chapter One**

The image before him was haunting. Dark ebony hair pulled tight behind a blanch white hood. Deep onyx eyes staring solemnly forward . Endlessly searching for a comforting familiar face in a sea of endless disdain. Slowly her obsidian orbs found his frightened form and a slow smile graced her delicate features as she focused her view upon the people before her.

"_Good Christian people, I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak anything of that, whereof I am accused and condemned to die, but I pray God save the king and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never: and to me he was ever a good, a gentle and sovereign lord." _

For a single moment she paused her momentary delay detectable only by those who knew her nature and once more her opaque gaze locked with his own "_And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me. O Lord have mercy on me, to God I commend my soul._"

Sweetly she bowed her head and turned to speak with the hooded figure who stood behind her. In that moment his eyes scanned the breadth of the Tower Green and the hoard of spectators who stood before the scaffold. Slowly he found the Duke of Suffolk's indifferent figure "_It is said that the Queen entertains men at indecent hours in her chambers and does not honour the exalted position she has been bequeathed_" The rasped and whispered words reverberated throughout his mind.

Before he was able to grasp the meaning behind those serpentine words she spoke once more. Her grey damask gown crumbled as she bent and knelt delicately upon her knees. "_To Jesus Christ I commend my soul; Lord Jesus receive my soul"_ Her eyes closed in desperate prayer as she repeated her pleas for salvation.

Realization finally found him as her eyelids fluttered and her fearful gaze locked with his own and then shifted to the looming executioner who stood behind. "_Boy fetch me my sword_." In desperation he attempted to move his feet and run to her but no movement came. Even his voice was stifled when he sort to call men to action in a futile effort to save her life.

In panic his eyes searched the silent crowd who had knelt before her. But his view caused only despair and desperation. The fallen figure of Thomas Cranmer whispering in silent prayer. His head bowed in repentance and grief engulfed his sight "_She who has been the Queen of England on Earth will today become a Queen in Heaven_" The voice resounded deep within his mind. Forcing him to look away from the kneeling priest and back to the confused boy who stood before the scaffold and the Queen who knelt upon it.

With silent desperation he struggled in vain against the forces that bound him. Senselessly fighting to save her, to save himself and defy the folly that had befallen them. His heart pounded as the executioner withdrew his sword. A glimmering line of silver from beneath the golden hay that lay upon the scaffold. His only comfort was that she would not see her death blow. Her deep orbs stared endlessly at the boy before scaffold waiting for him to produce a sword that would never come.

The strike was swift and clean. One single smooth impact severed her head from her slender neck as her crimson lips parted to exhale their last silent scream. In horror he cried, staring ceasingly at the tall stone walls and towers that had been her prison.

It was there he saw the fallen frame of Thomas Wyatt. His form a crumpled heap upon a window. Ever an admirer and friend Wyatt had borne witness to her final moment. Determined to stand with her even until her end. " _These bloody days have broken my heart. My lust, my youth did them depart, And blind desire of estate. Who hastes to climb seeks to revert_" The words pounded upon his soul as they resounded in the empty chambers of his heart and brought him to his knees.

It was here at the foot of her scaffold mere feet from her slight, pale and bloodless body that he wept. His horse and ragged voice screaming her name "Anne".

With a frayed and fragmented scream Thomas Boleyn woke drenched in his own perspiration. His daughter's name still upon his lips. His dream a terrifying nightmare that reverberated throughout his soul and tore at his mind. With groggy realization he slumped back onto his damp silken pillow exhaling a sigh of relief.

A horrifying realistic nightmare, a torment of the unconscious but nothing more. Slowly he allowed his eyes to drift close and inhaled the comforting smells and familiar sounds of Hever Castle.

However tonight sleep eluded him. He could not ease back into a peaceful slumber. Nor cease the alarm that was mounting in his restless thoughts. He could not shake the growing suspicion that he was being watched, haunted by the echoes of his nightmare. Their faces swirled before his eyes and soft words continued to whisper into the night. Images of death, despair and betrayal wove themselves into a boundless tale of anguish and pain. Suddenly he could bear it no longer and rose from his bed as one possessed determined to rid himself of this dread.

Silently he began to pace the long and flickering corridors of the castle hoping to relieve the mounting terror that was threatening to consume him. But the further he walked, the more his heart began to pound and the more he was convinced he was being pursued, stalked by his own fear. Inhaling sharply he attempted to slow his breathing and regain some sense of reality. He steadily slowed his footsteps and leaned against the cool stone wall.

In silence he focused on the rise and fall of his chest, the steady pounding of his heart and the empty stillness of the long and vacant hall. It was the scent of rose water that caught his notice first and the smell of lilies. Slowly he looked up his eyes searching the flickering darkness for the source. He heard it then. The swish of fabric upon the hard wood floors. "_Elizabeth_" his wife's name fell from his lips in a hushed whisper.

He could hear it now the soft footfalls walking towards him, the silky sigh and the whisper of air. Swiftly he straightened himself to stand at his full stature "_Reveal yourself at once. I am master of this house and I demand to know who walks my halls_." His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. But he had ensured that no one save himself could detect his fear.

Calmly she emerged from the flickering murky shadows her long raven hair drawn back to cascade beneath a glittering pearl tiara. Her gown a beautiful and ornate design of black silk and silver linen. "_Father_" her voice whispered in cold and mournful tones as her deep obsidian orbs caught his sight and mesmerized his soul "_Anne_".

Hesitantly he approached her his mind a swirl of grief, anger and fear. For a heartbeat he paused the image of her loss so vivid in his mind. Her pale, listless and broken upon the scaffold "_Anne_". Tentatively he reached out to embrace her. To shatter the illusion of her loathsome end upon the Tower. But as he went to grasp her arm his hand fell though cold stale air and his daughters image shimmered. Shocked he stood motionless his gaze fixated upon his empty hand and the vision of the woman before him.

"_Anne_" the trembling word fell from his lips as he fearfully stepped back. "_Anne...I...How_" the words tumbling from his mouth as his mind began to race. Her dark brown eyes stared ceaselessly, searching into the very depths of his soul, her gaze unflinching and unyielding holding him captive and motionless. "_Father_" she echoed once more her voice cold and indifferent. The bitter tone pierced his heart and brought him to his knees.

He stared in utter silence as she slowly made her approach. His breath coming in raggard gasps. His mind screaming in utter confusion. "_Did you watch your son die_" the dark insidious words slammed into his mind. "_How about your daughter will you watch her die_" the ominous voice whispered "_Tell me Boleyn was it all worth it_". The voice swelled in his mind and then in the darkness he felt the world go cold "_So It seems I am to keep my Earldom_" he heard himself laugh.

Startled he shut his eyes "_No_" he screamed as tears burned the back of his eye and shimmered in there depths "_Who is left to mourn you and who is left to claim your title_" Her voice was empty and doleful. The sound bereft of joy. "_Only the ghost of his children will mourn him now_" the gleeful voice whispered. _"No_" he screamed. As he raised his head his own dark orbs locking with her ebony eyes "_No_".

In silence she stared. Her eye searching endlessly in the darkness. Her gaze never leaving his face "_No? Did you not hear my last words upon the scaffold? Nor the gleeful joy of our enemies as they laughed at our downfall?". _Hesitantly he shook his head "_No_" he whispered as the swift plague of images bombarded his mind. "_Be gone shade you are but a dream_". Slowly she kneeled before him. Her eyes never leaving his face "_Dream_" She smirked "_No you have borne witness to your future...and my end". _

The bitter tone struck his heart as she faintly laid her ice cold hand upon his shoulder. "_This fate was mine to live"_ she whispered "_To call your name, to see your eyes and to watch you flee". _Slowly she withdrew "_To die with a beautiful lie upon my lips" _swiftly she turned "_ever a good, a gentle and sovereign lord" _she spat. Her words echoed down the murky corridor as the candles flickered in the darkness. "_Le temps viendra_" she breathed as her figure stood motionless in the night.

In a soft whisper she turned her gown catching at her feet as it rustled on the smooth timber floors . A gentle smile graced her face and slowly she paced back towards his fallen figure. Pain and grief permeated the evening air as her presence engulfed the confines of the gallery. Her very being dripped with anguish and yet he perceived the blinding fury and conviction that governed her course.

In that moment she stood alone her spirit bound by the endless predetermined flow of destiny and the ceaseless march of progression. "_This torment of fate was mine to endure... but it will not be yours_," she sighed. "_History is written by the victors and I have come to ensure ours_". Her eyes locked with his own dark gaze "I have need of your assistance to defy the fates".

"_Le temps viendra_" she whispered "_The time will come_".


End file.
